The Pale Shadows
You are bleeding. The blood is hot. It soaks the wool of your coat, turning the grey fabric into a dark, heavy stain. You do not look down. To look is to acknowledge the wound, and to acknowledge the wound is to admit that you are mortal. You are not mortal. You are the vessel. You are the word made flesh, trembling on the edge of the silence. The rain falls. It is not water. It is memory, cold...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen